


Lying Next to Me

by Elucreh



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elucreh/pseuds/Elucreh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is hard for Brendon the lonely busker, but when the commuter he's had a crush on for months gets pushed from the El platform onto the tracks, his life is changed forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lying Next to Me

**Author's Note:**

> The plot belongs to Hollywood Pictures, the boys belong to each other, and the idea to combine them was Rachel's; hardly any of this is mine. Title from Mara Levi's "Homo Song," because it stuck. All details regarding the El are completely inaccurate. With thanks to , , , and for audiencing as we went, and to for the beta. For , who is to blame for approximately half my fics. Happy holidays, my darling!

Brendon's mom used to tell him that she knew she was in love when his dad filled her soul with music.

Okay, really he tricked her into performing a duet in a ward talent show, but when he sang about love and longing and looked into her eyes, the whole audience and the gym in its Christmas trappings fell away and she couldn't do anything but sing back.

Brendon grew up in a family whose whole foundation was a soul filled with music, but when it turned out that his soul was _made_ of music, and couldn't find room for anything else, not Christ or faith or salvation, he made himself walk out, guitar on his back and the couple of thousand from his mission fund in his pocket. He couldn't face telling his parents he didn't think he'd need anything more than music to make a home.

So far, music and he have managed pretty well. He found his old roommate, Shane, by playing the guitar in really interesting lighting (apparently) and when he was still living off his savings, busking on the El platform, the owner of the little station bakery came out and gave him hot coffee. The big man eyed him sternly while he drank it gratefully, and then offered him a job. So now Brendon works enough at Hot Stuff to pay his bills and get benefits, and when business is slow Zack still lets him go stand out front and play, so long as he uses a Hot Stuff mug to collect change.

It's a good life Brendon has, if a little lonely now that Shane's married and gone (even if he was nice enough to leave Brendon the dog). He has friends where he works, despite his vicious battles with Greta over who gets to busk when the bakery's empty.

And, of course, there's Hat Guy.

Hat Guy comes in during the lull between the breakfast/commuter crowd and the lunch/shopping crowd, about ten-thirty every weekday morning, and he's the most beautiful person Brendon has ever seen. Ever. He has fine, delicate bones and pale skin, and he has the world's most fantastic fashion sense.

Sometimes Brendon is on the register, and gets to hand over Hat Guy's medium coffee, black, and miniature loaf of French bread, but he likes it better when he out-pretties or out-pouts Greta and gets waved to the sidewalk out front where he can play slow, seductive rhythms or happy, flirty ones until Hat Guy comes up the sidewalk with his long legs and smiles at him. On his way out, Hat Guy will drop coins in Brendon's mug, always exactly sixty-four cents, his change from the bakery, and if he isn't in a hurry that day he'll smile again.

Someday, Brendon knows, Hat Guy will stop for more than a smile. He'll take Brendon's guitar and kiss him, and they'll introduce themselves and have a wonderful life together.

In the meantime, Brendon has a Christmas to celebrate. Christmas is _important_. And sure, he avoids a few things that would make Christmas a _sad_ thing, like stockings that can't be hand-quilted by his mom when he was six, or peppermint bark, or caroling (caroling's no fun on your own, anyway), but they would defeat the purpose. Brendon starts right after Thanksgiving, putting together paper garlands to string around his apartment and picking out just the right gift for everybody he knows. Tiny finger-cymbals for Greta so she can dance and play at the same time, an apron for Zack that Brendon paints himself, a case of Shane's favorite beer and funky earrings to the Valdes household with an absolute _mountain_ of baby toys, in case Tara forgets him while she is visiting her grandparents for the holidays.

Brendon bakes cookies, cutting out Santa hats and reindeer and holly, and frosts them thick and sticky in white and green, sprinkled with red sugar. There are more cookies than he could ever eat alone, and so the mats in front of the doors in his building sprout plates with a cheery label wishing people a happy holiday, and the kids from two floors up wave at Brendon from their snowman the next morning. (Gabe The Leering Landlord gives him a thank-you grope, too.)

Brendon puts on Christmas music and decorates his tree with glass balls and twinkle lights, determined not to think about the green-painted jar lids with his picture on them (Brendon, age six, two teeth missing; Brendon, age nine, The Year Of The Purple Glasses Frames) or the beautiful clay nativity ornaments that his older sister made in college. He sings along to "Jingle Bells" and "Deck the Halls" and "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas," sprinkling tinsel on his tree, and when there's nobody to sing the questions on "Must Be Santa," he hits the skip button on the CD player. Instead he scoops up Dylan from where she's eying the sparkles warily and dances her around the room to "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," and pretends her yips of protest are singing along. (He shares his eggnog later to make up for it.)

Brendon has been enthusiastic in his Hot Stuff decorating, too, and Zack has been surprisingly indulgent--he even bought window markers for Brendon and Greta to cover their big front window in snowflakes and wreaths and candy canes. Brendon thought Zack might be filled with holiday spirit, but as it turned out, Zack was buttering him up for another reason entirely.

"Work Christmas?" Brendon can't quite believe what Zack is asking of him.

Zack gives him a pleading look. "Greta's high school band is coming back from college, Brendon. And my mom's gonna kill me if I'm not there this year. I'll be here for the evening shift, I swear."

Brendon sighs.

"Think of all the Christmas cheer you can spread!" Zack says. "You can give away a free cookie with every drink if you want to. And if nobody's buying you can play all the Christmas music you want."

Brendon can feel himself wavering, but--_Christmas_.

"Brendon--_please_. I wouldn't ask, but it's not like you're--"

Brendon cuts him off before Zack can make Christmas a sad thing, like the carolers Brendon didn't open the door to last night. "Fine. But you owe me. And I get to decorate the cookies from now until Valentine's Day."

"Done!" Zack picks him up in a bear hug. "Dude, thank you thank you thank you."

"Yeah, yeah." Brendon pretends he's carrying a grudge, but really, Zack's bear hugs cure a multitude of ills.

On Christmas morning, Brendon tries to wrap himself in the memory of Zack's hug like a blanket of Christmas cheer, but the effect wears off with too much use as he serves coffee and pastry to people who are in a cheerful hurry, wishing him a merry Christmas as they scoop up boxes of danish and cinnamon rolls for their hungry families, who are waiting for them at home beside sweet-scented trees and roaring fires. When the family breakfast crowd finally dies down around two, he gets out his guitar and goes to play in the front of the store, starting with "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" in a determined fit of jollity. He comes down through "We Three Kings" and "Mary, Did You Know?" all the way to "Christmas Shoes"--tearjerker and a lousy song to boot--a lot faster than he was hoping to, and for a few minutes he has to stop himself and get a grip, breathing in deep breaths and thinking happy thoughts.

He's playing a soft, sweet "I Heard the Bells" when a deep voice says, "Hey!"

His fingers still on the strings, and he looks up to see Hat Guy in a top hat decorated with holly and a thick snowflake sweater, hurrying up the sidewalk. "Merry Christmas!" he calls, waving as he walks by, and Brendon's mouth falls open unflatteringly.

Hat Guy keeps going, headed for a different train than his usual, and Brendon closes his mouth and smacks himself in the head.

"Happy holidays. Nice hat. Please smile at me every day for the rest of my life." Brendon can think of a thousand appropriate answers to that. Why didn't he _say_ any of them?

He glances after Hat Guy, still embarrassed, just in time to see some dude in a ski mask pull Hat Guy close by his scarf and lift a wad of bills from Hat Guy's coat. The dude shoves Hat Guy's throat away from him just as Hat Guy is saying, "Hey, what--" and Hat Guy goes over the edge of the platform in a jumble of long limbs.

Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.

The mugger takes off and Brendon doesn't bother about him, just sets his guitar inside the door of Hot Stuff and bolts to the platform, thinking _pleasepleaseplease be okay, pleasepleaseplease_...

But he isn't. Hat Guy is lying half-on, half-off the track, his jauntily berried hat spinning slowly between the rails, his body frighteningly still. Brendon jumps down and tries to calm his heartbeat enough to hear his Scoutmaster's authoritative rumble in his head. _Check the area, assess the situation, get help, do what you can_.

Obviously, the first one is _bad_, very bad--Brendon isn't in any danger if he tries to help _right this second_, but he's pretty sure the train is due soon.

He tries to remember how to assess the situation--it doesn't look like Hat Guy has any broken bones, and his breath is leaving mist in the icy air, but he isn't moving. "Hey, are you okay?" He gets down and shakes Hat Guy's arm, but there's no response. Dubiously, Brendon puts his forefinger behind his thumb and stares at it for a moment. This feels even stupider now than it did in Scouts. He rolls his eyes at himself and thumps Hat Guy on the chest, hard. No response.

Brendon fumbles in his pocket for his cell phone, but a train whistle blows behind them, and there just isn't _time_.

"C'mon, dude, get up, _please_\--"

But the train is coming, fast, and Brendon remembers the time there was a stray cat on the rails--the drivers just can't see anything this far down. He grabs Hat Guy by the lapels of his long green coat and tries to pull him off the rails, but Hat Guy is heavy for someone roughly the circumference of a toothpick, and the train is still chugging closer. Brendon panics and throws himself all the way down on top of Hat Guy and _rolls,_ once, twice, under the shelter of the platform as the train rumbles by. He winds up on top again, trying not to panic, trying to breathe, and he's _going_ to call 911, he is, just as soon as his heart stops racing and Hat Guy stops smelling quite so good.

*~*~*~*~*

The ambulance is just pulling away when Brendon hears his name being shouted in a panic. He turns around to see Zack shoving his way through the crowd, wild-eyed. "Brendon!"

"Zack, Zack, hey, I'm here!"

Zack pulls him close in a fast, hard hug, shoves him back just as abruptly to look him over. "You okay?"

Brendon smiles at him reassuringly. "I'm fine, Zack, this guy got pushed onto the tracks, I was just helping out."

Zack doesn't look noticeably reassured. "Anyone we know?"

"One of the regulars, the guy with all the hats?"

"Oh, _really_?"

Sometimes Brendon hates how he can't really hide anything. Like how he's blushing right now, for instance.

"And you were helping...how, exactly?"

"I, um. I kind of--jumped down and pulled him off the tracks?"

Zack's look speaks volumes.

"Shut up. Look, can I--?"

"Yeah, yeah, go play knight in shining armor, kiddo."

Brendon punches Zack in the arm and runs to catch the next train to the hospital. All the way there he daydreams about what an amazing story it could be, jumping off the platform, pulling his beloved off the tracks, finding him at the hospital, they fall into each others' arms, they kiss--

It's pretty pointless, as it turns out, because once he gets there he still doesn't know Hat Guy's name.

He's trying to negotiate with the nurse on the front desk when he sees the gurney with Hat Guy on it wheeling its way in from the emergency room, and he takes off across the lobby, following the orderlies to the elevator, where one of them stops him.

"Are you family, sir?"

"I--no, but I--"

"Family only."

"You don't understand--"

"Sorry."

The elevator closes almost on Brendon's nose, and he stands there forlornly watching the numbers climb to the fourth floor.

"We were gonna live happily ever after," he says softly.

A nurse taps him on the shoulder and smiles conspiratorially. "I can get you in."

By the time the elevator's come back for them, and the nurse has ushered him in with a soft pat to his arm, Hat Guy--hatless--is lying in a cool, dim room under the flicker of machinery lights, and suddenly Brendon realizes how stupid this is.

He still doesn't even know the guy's fucking _name_, for crying out loud.

"Knock, knock," a deep voice interrupts Brendon's staring.

He turns around to find a big blond man with a lip ring and a stethoscope, who smiles at him. "Mr. Ross is going to be all right," the doctor says reassuringly.

"Really?" Brendon says, and the doctor smiles.

"Really," he says.

He's just opening his mouth to continue when there's a sharp cry from the doorway; Brendon and the doctor both turn to see a pretty middle-aged woman standing there, obviously trying to control herself. She takes one hesitant step into the room, and then another, and then she just _flies_ to Hat Guy's side, touching his face with shaky hands.

"Ryan," she says, softly--_Ryan Ross_, Brendon thinks--and then she starts to cry.

"Hey, Ginger, hey," a balding guy comes in, too, and goes to wrap his arms around her. Two teenage girls trail in behind him, looking worried. A short guy with a beard brings up the rear, his eyes focused on the still figure in the bed.

"He's gonna be okay," the man says. "Isn't he?" He gives the doctor a sharp look.

"He's in a coma," the doctor says. "But his brainwaves are strong, and his vital signs are healthy. I think he's going to be all right."

The woman--Ginger?--draws in a sharp breath. "Oh, thank God." She reaches out her hands to her--daughters?--and they hold on tight.

"How did this happen?" the man demands.

"He was pushed from the train platform," Brendon volunteers, and the entire room turns to look at him.

"Who are you?" the man asks, and his wife bumps him with her shoulder.

"Jeff! Don't be rude." She smiles shakily at Brendon. "Are you with the hospital?"

Brendon's just about to explain when the guy who was wheeling the gurney before shows up in the doorway. "Hey, buddy," he says. "I know you wanna see your friend, but it really is family only."

Brendon tries to explain that, too, but the nurse who showed him where to go says, "He's his fiancée," and for just a moment all Brendon can hear is white noise.

When he comes back to himself, the room has erupted in confusion; the family's all looking at him like he has three heads, the nurse looks like he can't tell up from down, the doctor's trying to calm everybody down, and the orderly is trying to apologize.

The guy from the ambulance, who Brendon spent ten minutes trying to explain the situation to, shows up at the door and adds to the chaos by trying to make the nurse take Hat Guy's chart. He spots Brendon and waves. "You're the guy that saved his life, right?" he asks cheerfully. "Glad they let you in, I forgot to give the okay."

Brendon smiles weakly. The nurse's mouth has dropped open.

"You saved his life?" Ginger asks.

"I thought he was pushed from the platform," Jeff says.

"He jumped on the tracks," the orderly says.

"You _jumped on the tracks_?" one of the girls asks, her eyes like saucers.

"I--yeah," Brendon says helplessly.

"I'm so sorry," Ginger says, shaking herself free of her family and coming toward him. "You know how Ryan is about surprises, he only told us he had news--"

Brendon doesn't know what to do with this.

"I've been trying to get him to find a nice boy...I'm _so_ glad he found you." She grabs Brendon in a hug and squeezes him tight. "Thank you so _much_." She presses a kiss to his cheek and lets him go.

As soon as Brendon can, he escapes to the nurse's station, where the nurse who helped him is sketching a zombie on an admissions form.

"Uh--_why_ did you say that?" Brendon asks, and the nurse looks up.

"Say what?" He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and puts the pencil back against the paper.

"I'm not his fiancée."

The pencil skids.

"Then why did you tell me that you were?"

"I'm not--I've barely even spoken to him, what--"

The nurse looks almost as confused as Brendon feels. "But downstairs, you said--"

"Oh, _god_," Brendon groans, and runs his hand through his hair. "I was--I was talking to myself, I was--"

The nurse looks genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry, I thought you meant--"

"I--it's okay, it's not your fault," Brendon says, and bangs his head on the desk of the nurse's station a couple of times.

"What am I gonna do?" he mutters, and the nurse makes a helpless noise and pets Brendon's hair.

*~*~*~*~*

Late that night, Brendon gives up on tossing and turning and throws his clothes on, slipping bare feet into his sneakers and grabbing a decent sweatshirt to throw over his pajama top.

The El is a little spooky this late, but Brendon knows most of the night security because they take turns on the day shift, and Zack "believes in keeping his property protected," which is just his way of pretending that he's not made of marshmallow on the inside and fond of giving coffee and cookies to anything standing around looking cold or hungry or overworked or lost or unappreciated. He waves to Matt, whose look of boredom momentarily lightens, and gets on the train. His knee jitters in time to the click-clacks of the wheels on the tracks, and he tries not to think about where he's going.

The ICU is quiet now, no patients being rushed in and out for tests and treatments, no friends or family passing one another in the hall on the way to the vending machines and nurses' station. Brendon nods to the unfamiliar nurse doing paperwork at the desk, takes a deep breath, and walks into Ryan's room.

Ryan's lying still, of course, his pale skin lit by the green lights of the machines. Hat Guy, Brendon thinks absurdly, because of course Ryan isn't wearing a hat now; he isn't even wearing anything around his neck, no skinny tie or necklace or scarf. It makes him look strangely vulnerable and alien under the low lights, and Brendon realizes all over again that really, he doesn't know anything about Ryan. Anything. All he knows is that Ryan likes hats, and even that isn't true while Ryan is in here, flat on his back in a plain hospital gown. This Ryan is a stranger.

God, _what_ is he _doing_ here?

Brendon almost just turns around and walks right out, let them wonder, let Ryan explain when he wakes up, if he ever does, but he remembers Ginger holding him _so tight_, remembers sitting in the waiting room for hours listening to them worry, and he can't walk out on them. Which means he owes Ryan an explanation.

He draws in a deep breath and blows it out, slowly. "Um. Hi."

Ryan breathes back at him, and Brendon fights down a hysterical giggle. Obviously, this is insane.

"This is nuts," he says, and he can hear the desperate whine in his own voice. "You know that, right? I've never even _talked_ to you. I didn't even know your name. Which, hi, you don't know mine either, if you're Hat Guy I'm probably Spastic Busker or something, which is ridiculous, dude. We can't be engaged if you don't know my name, even I know that."

Ryan doesn't acknowledge the ridiculousness, but Brendon feels better for saying it aloud, all the same.

"So, um. I'm Brendon. Brendon Boyd Urie, I'm twenty-one years old and I have a dog named Dylan and I like music and video games and nakedness and--this is stupid. This is so _stupid_. Your family thinks we're engaged and I'm babbling my OKCupid profile."

Brendon gives up and slumps into the chair by the bedside, leaning his elbows on the mattress so he doesn't have to look at Ryan.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm so, so sorry. I don't know how it happened, it just--_did_. And I just--I can't tell them, okay? Your mom, she hugged me and she was glad and--it's just, it's been--it's been a really long time since I had a hug from a mom.

"Do you--can you imagine that? Being so--alone, so lonely, that you'd do anything for a family? I mean, don't get me wrong, my friends try, but it's not the _same_. And this Christmas they're all off with their _real_ families, and I'm--obviously, I'm spending Christmas in a hospital babbling to a guy in a coma." He laughs again, worn and unhappy, and puts his head down on the bed too.

"In the interests of full disclosure," he adds, mumbling into the mattress, "I guess I should tell you I've had a crush on you for three months. Your hats are awesome, and you have a really pretty smile."

Brendon sighs against the mattress and lets his eyelids drop closed.

*~*~*~*~*

Outside Ryan's door, Jon Walker bites his lip and walks away.

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon wakes up with an ache in his spine and a worse one in his neck, and it takes him about ten minutes to wake up enough to understand why. When he does, he springs up like a jack-in-the-box and nearly cripples himself leaping out of the chair. Shit, shit, _shit_, he totally fell asleep on Ryan's _bed_, like this whole crazy scenario isn't creepy enough already. Brendon never meant to become a _stalker_ or anything, and how is this his life.

He looks at Ryan anxiously, but at least Ryan doesn't seem any worse for having shared bedspace with him. Tentatively, he reaches over and pats Ryan on the ankle--that couldn't be too creepy, right, just the ankle?

"Bye," he whispers, and turns to go, and runs smack into Jeff, who is just coming into the room, almost the whole family behind him.

"Brendon!" Ginger says, and smiles at him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "The nurse didn't tell us you were here, have you been here all night?"

He smiles at her helplessly. "Yeah. I--I couldn't sleep, so I came to talk to him, and I guess I just kinda conked out right here."

"He looks better!" Crystal exclaims, peering over her mother's shoulder at Ryan's still form.

"I--I think so, a little, yeah." Brendon really has no idea what he should say to these people, still, and he sort of waves his hand around uselessly. "I should--go, I have to work--"

"Oh, hey, whoa there," Ginger says, refusing to let him tug free. "We want you to come and celebrate Christmas with us tonight."

Brendon stares at her.

"I mean," she smiles at him, "obviously, we were all a little distracted yesterday, and we didn't really get to do stockings and presents and turkey. And you didn't either, so you have to come and help us keep our spirits up."

"I--" Brendon starts, but luckily, Jackie interrupts him.

"You can meet Spencer, you haven't met Spencer yet!"

"Oh my _god_," Crystal agrees, eyes wide. "Spencer might kill us if you're not there tonight. I mean, obviously, he's going to kill Ryan--"

"_Crystal_," her mother hisses, darting a glance at the bed, "don't _say_ things like that, not with--"

Jackie rolls her eyes. "Give it up, Mom, as soon as he's better Spencer's going to kick him to death and you know it."

"Now that we know it'll be on our heads, too, Brendon. You have to come." Crystal gives him puppy-dog eyes that are almost as pathetic as Greta's, and Brendon groans inwardly.

"I--"

"Give us your info, Brendon," Jeff says, smiling kindly at him, like he's used to stilling the whirlwind of crazy family. "We'll give you a call, let you know where to come." He pulls out a rubber-banded stack of business cards and hands over two. "Write your number and address on the back of one, the other one's for you. If you ever need a piccolo, let us know."

Brendon looks down at the _Smith and Son, Fine Instruments and Instruction_ business cards, printed with guitar, saxophone, and musical notes, the address just a few blocks from Shane's new place. Jeff smiles at him encouragingly, and Brendon digs a pen out of his hoodie pocket to print his information. He hands it over and waves an awkward goodbye, turning to the elevator with a mental sigh of relief.

"Mr. Urie!" a voice calls after him, and he can't quite stop himself from groaning as he turns back.

There's a new nurse chasing after him with a box, a tiny guy with black hair and the shadows of tattoos beneath his scrubs. The box has a top hat sticking out of the top of it.

"Yeah?"

"Mr. Urie, this is what your husband had on him during the accident."

Brendon moans, driven beyond endurance. "He's not my _husband_."

"Sorry, your fiancée" The guy gives him such a sweet smile that Brendon can't snap at him any more. He takes the box and smiles weakly back, enough to make the nurse walk away.

"Oh, hey, you're Ryan's fiancée?" A tiny guy with a zillion tattoos and really big teeth has stopped on his way out of the elevator, and now he's following Brendon in as the door shuts.

Brendon groans inwardly. "I--yeah."

The tiny guy holds out his hand, and Brendon shakes it. There really aren't many other options, here.

"I'm Pete Wentz, Ryan's boss?"

"Oh, sure," Brendon says, and tries not to ask what Ryan does for a living. Obviously, Ryan's fiancée would know that.

"I'm so glad you two finally worked your shit out, man."

Oh, god. There's someone _else_. What the _fuck_, there's someone else, and why isn't he _here_ getting Brendon _out of this_?

"You look just like I imagined, man, Ross's drunken ramblings are _accurate_, even when he's being an emo little wuss who won't speak up. I thought he'd never get you. Did you like the tattoo? I mean, he has a pretty lickable pelvis anyway, but that's gotta be tempting. I bet you can't keep your tongue off it."

Brendon can't stop himself. "The _tattoo_?"

"Oh, man, he didn't tell you it was about you, did he? I'll give him hell when he wakes up, promise. It's for you, man--a guitar pick because you taught him guitar, get it?"

Brendon has no idea what his face is doing, but Pete apparently translates it as "hey, personal!" or something, because he says, "Dude, sorry. I would say I'm not usually the kind of guy to go spilling his friends' personal details all over the fucking place, but that is totally untrue."

"No, it's fine--" Brendon gropes for something to say, but (thank God) the elevator opens, and all he has to say is, "This is my stop, so--"

"Cool, dude, I'll see you at the next office party." Pete waves as the elevator doors close on him, and Brendon breathes a deep sigh of relief.

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon fidgets his way through the morning rush, and he knows Zack is watching him as closely as he can.

When the traffic slows, Zack sends Greta out front without even giving Brendon the chance to bat his eyelashes, and shoves a hot coffee with two biscotti into Brendon's hand.

"No point in sending you out front today," he rumbles, pouring himself a cup, too. "I'm guessing your damsel in distress won't be coming in for a while."

Brendon makes a face at him and hands over a danish. "Considering he's in a _coma_, yeah, no."

"Oh, man, that sucks." Zack tears a piece of danish loose and dunks it into his drink. "That was totally your chance to make a play, and he still doesn't even know your name?"

"Yeah." Brendon crunches off a bit of biscotti. "I'm pretty sure he will, though."

"You gonna keep in contact?"

"Well...yeah. I don't think I've got a choice."

Zack gives him a sharp look. "Why's that?"

"His family thinks we're engaged."

There's a long silence. Zack stares at him. Brendon swirls his biscotti through the coffee and looks anywhere but into Zack's eyes.

"Brendon...."

"Yeah?"

"That is _fucked up_."

"Tell me about it."

"Yeah, no." Zack reaches over and stops Brendon's hand, still splashing the coffee in its cup. "I'm pretty sure that's your job."

*~*~*~*~*

When the cab pulls up in front of the house--tall and narrow and strung with Christmas lights--Brendon takes a deep breath and climbs out of the car, overtipping a little as he pulls the poinsettia from the back seat. He wraps his arms around the big plant and takes a deep, calming breath.

"Brendon!"

It's Jon from yesterday, bundled in long coat and a scarf that Brendon is pretty sure he recognizes from Hat G--from Ryan's neck, and it makes him smile to see how Jon must be part of the family, too.

"Hey, Jon."

"You made it, I'm glad. Come sit with me a minute."

"...okay." Brendon isn't sure where this is going, but he follows Jon to the porch steps and pulls his coat down over his ass to sit down.

"Ginger hates me to smoke in the house," Jon explains, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. "Well, actually, she hates it when I smoke at all, so I try to do it out of her sight when I can. You want one?"

"Nah, never got the habit." Brendon offers him a self-deprecating grin.

Jon smiles back. "Really good D.A.R.E. program at your school?"

"Well--" Brendon looks down at his shoes, wiggles his toes a little. "My family was Mormon, actually, so there weren't any around to steal or anything. And then, when I got to town, I couldn't really afford to smoke, even if I'd wanted to."

"They _were_ Mormon?"

"Are. Are Mormon. I mean, I assume. I haven't seen them in--a really long time." He bites his lip and wiggles his feet again. "They are and I'm--well, I'm not. That's the problem, really."

"I get it." Jon bumps Brendon's shoulder sympathetically. "Filthy habit, anyway, my mom's been trying to get me to quit for years."

"Where is she?"

"My dad took her to Mexico for the holiday," Jon explains. "Three weeks of bad water and white sand; that's why I'm back next door, I'm housesitting. Jeff and Ginger are letting me share their Christmas."

"So you don't _live_ next door."

"Not anymore." Jon puts the cigarette to his mouth and puffs for a minute. "I grew up there, sure; Ryan and Spencer were my best friends when we were teenagers. I've been looking out for them since Ryan was twelve, can you believe that?"

Brendon cocks his head to one side. "Was he just really annoying until then?"

Jon laughs. "Nah, that's when they moved here. They started out in Vegas. Then Ryan's dad wrecked his car, driving home drunk one night, and Jeff and Ginger took him in--he and Spencer have been best friends since they were really little, you know? They came here to give him a clean start, he had a really hard time with his dad's death."

Brendon nods slowly; he remembers Ginger talking about Ryan, the worry in her voice like he was somehow more fragile than most people. It explains the last name, too.

"They're really amazing, you know? They gave up their whole life--jobs and friends and everything--just packed it all up and moved because this kid who wasn't even blood needed a new place to be. I mean, I was here for the aftermath, and Ryan was--god, Ryan was screwed up. He was really hard on them for a while, too, almost as hard as he was on himself. But they got him through it.

"I'd do anything for them, you know? Ryan's--" Jon stops, self-consciously, and Brendon watches the emotions chase across his face. Finally, he starts again, his voice lower, less sure. "Ryan's really important to me, a really good friend. And they did that for him, they loved him through it. I can never repay them for that. I would do anything to keep them from getting hurt."

Brendon swallows, thinking of Ginger squeezing his hand. "So would I."

Jon looks at him for a moment with a penetrating stare that Brendon finds a little intimidating. Then all of a sudden a broad grin breaks across his face, like he was never serious at all. "I believe you."

Behind them, the door swings open, freeing a burst of heat and the slightly-muffled trumpet of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

Both of them turn to see Ginger beaming down at them. "Brendon! You came!" She reaches down to help him up, and pulls him into a hug. Brendon hugs back, hard.

"Jon, put out your cancer stick and come inside," she adds, disapproving, and Jon shrugs sheepishly as he climbs to his feet and gets his own hug, grinding the cigarette under his foot.

"Everybody, Jon and Brendon are here!" Ginger calls, pulling them into the hallway and tugging at Jon's scarf. Brendon soaks in the happy cries of the family as he slips out of his coat, and almost falls over when Jackie jumps him from behind, wrapping her arms around him.

They've missed dinner, but there are pies and half a dozen kinds of cookies on the kitchen counter, and eggnog and champagne in tall glasses. Brendon teases Crystal about the mistletoe-decorated picture of a boy on the refrigerator and gets into an argument about guitar strings with Jeff. Later, Ginger crowds them all into the living room with its glistening Christmas tree, and the twins takes turns passing out gifts. There are even a few for Brendon, gloves and chocolate and a box of colorful guitar picks that make him smile, but really, the joy of it is in hearing Jackie squeal about the concert tickets from her sister, seeing Ginger light up when she opens a velvet box with a sapphire brooch inside.

Later, they settle down to watch _A Muppet Christmas Carol_, and Jackie beams at Brendon when he can't help but sing "One More Sleep" with Kermit. By the time the Ghost of Christmas Present is singing about getting warm by the fire, everybody's singing along, and happiness glows in Brendon's stomach like a hot coal.

He slips into sleep as Scrooge asks the bunny to buy a big goose for the Cratchits, and only barely registers being tipped onto his side on the couch and covered with a blanket. He snuggles down into the worn cushions and sighs as somebody drops a kiss into his hair.

He isn't sure how much later it is when the creak of the door and the drift of cold air half-wake him from his dream.

"Sorry, Crys," a new voice rumbles. "I just didn't want to wake Mom, she's had a hard few days."

"Why are you back so late?" Crystal hisses. "You were supposed to be here _hours_ ago, Spence!"

"The snow, Crystal, you don't want two brothers in the hospital, do you? How's Ryan?"

"No change."

Spencer sighs heavily. "I figured." Brendon can hear the chink of a heavy zipper and the slithery sounds of a coat sliding off.

"Who's on the couch, Jon?"

"Nah, Jon went home. Brendon fell asleep during the movie."

"Brendon? Who's Brendon?"

Crystal takes a deep breath and expels it. "He's Ryan's fiancée"

"He's _what_?"

Crystal hushes him furiously. "You'll wake him! I didn't want to be the one to tell you."

Spencer sounds bitter. "No _kidding_ you didn't want to tell me. I didn't know he was _that_ mad at me."

"You know he holds grudges."

"Yeah, but--"

"Spencer, I don't know, okay? I don't know why. And I don't think Brendon does either, so give him a chance, okay? He's awesome."

Brendon holds his breath.

"A _chance_," Spencer says, finally, which could mean anything.

"And don't eat my Pop-Tarts in the morning."

Spencer laughs, and their footsteps climb the stairs together.

Brendon has a hard time sleeping the rest of the night; in fact, he pretty much just tosses and turns until it's light and he has to get up for work. He calls a cab as quietly as he can, and slips into the bathroom to splash his face and stick his tongue out at his bedhead. When he gets out, there is a bearded man on the stairs.

Brendon drops his cellphone.

"Sorry, dude." The bearded guy smiles a little, although his eyes are still appraising, unkind; his voice is the voice from the night before. "Didn't mean to scare you."

Brendon ducks down to snatch his phone from the floor and hide his blush. "Um. No, it's fine. I--good morning, Spencer."

"Funny thing," Spencer says, meditative. "I don't remember meeting you."

"Well, you haven't." Brendon stands up and reaches for his coat. "I just--I know you from, you know, pictures, and stuff." Strictly speaking, that's true--there's a huge family portrait in the living room, for example.

Spencer nods gravely. "You're Brendon, right?"

"Yeah." They stare at each other for a minute, until the blessed cab honks outside.

"I have to go, but I--it was nice to meet you." Brendon jams his stocking cap onto his head and turns to go.

"Brendon--"

Brendon turns around, panicking. "Look, I know--"

"Hey," Spencer interrupts him, even, calm, like Jeff stilling a family storm. "I just wanted to welcome you to the family."

"Oh." Brendon stares at him for a minute, feeling his stomach settle. "Thanks."

He's still smiling as he ducks out the door.

*~*~*~*~*

It's an ordinary day after that, though. Brendon cleverly saves Zack a cherry danish, and is duly permitted to go out in front of the bakery to sing "I'm My Own Grandpa" and "All of Us," and he makes it halfway through the first verse of "Five People in My Family" before Zack comes to the door and throws half a stale bagel at his head for singing Sesame Street songs while wearing a Hot Stuff apron.

Whatever, like it's Brendon's fault Zack was traumatized by the meeping aliens when he was six.

Brendon makes change and smiles at the customers and has a small--_small_\--sprinkle war with Greta, wipes down the counters, and waves over his shoulder as he runs to catch the train. Gabe the Leering Landlord catches him on the stairs, but he is apparently too annoyed about something his terrifying car is doing to even eyefuck Brendon very thoroughly, which is nice. Brendon is, like, eighty percent sure that if he ever took Gabe up on the offer, he'd get patted on the head and told to run along and play (the other twenty percent sure that he'd get patted on the _ass_ and told to run along), but when Gabe is in the mood it can take him twenty minutes to run out of bad pick-up lines, and Dylan still chews the furniture when Brendon is too late.

Brendon's pretty sure she's just trying to reverse the conditioning all the puppy books told him to try on _her_, and he's still pondering just how smart the dog can be when he walks in to find a big box on his coffee table with a top hat sticking out of it.

Right.

Dylan comes skittering up as he's hanging his coat, and he drops automatically to pet her and accept doggy kisses. She wiggles ecstatically against his leg before scrambling to stand up against the wall under the hook for her leash. She barks hopefully. Brendon laughs. "Yeah, whatever, the Alexes totally took you out twice already." Brendon loves having responsible, dog-loving teenagers in his building.

She gives him a reproachful look and hops down again, whimpering and nosing at his hand.

"Yeah, okay," Brendon says, scratching behind her ears. "Compromise." He gets up and sits on the couch instead, and pats his lap. "Cuddles? Cuddles, c'mon girl, cuddles! Up!"

Dylan considers it for a moment, then gives in with a shake of her head and leaps, nearly missing her target, as always. Brendon hauls her up by the collar and settles her up against his chest, panting quietly into his ear, just like his first niece when she was so new she--

Brendon distracts himself by pulling the box onto the couch next to them, and exploring its contents. He feels a little guilty about it: it's not like he actually _has_ the right to know what Ryan keeps in his pockets, but probably, all things considered, this is a pretty minor crime. In comparison.

The hat is sitting on top of the stack of clothing, but there's a sack with _pockets_ scrawled across it in the box, too. The first thing Brendon pulls out is Ryan's wallet; ID, credit cards, a Decaydance security swipe card--Brendon frowns, isn't that a new record label or something? Does Ryan work in music, maybe?--insurance, and a little flip book of pictures. Ryan carried a tiny version of the big family portrait, and a photo of himself and Spencer and Jon draped over instruments and each other. The other pockets are filled with art photographs, beautifully lit shots of weird street signs and flowers and windows and two people's elbows, brushing together.

Brendon pages through them slowly; he may not know much about photography, but he knows whoever took these is _good_. About halfway through he recognizes one of Ryan's hats, and grins; Ryan must know the photographer.

He doesn't open the small spiral notebook--_some_ things should be sacred--and the key ring is boring and plain, which leaves only one thing in the paper sack besides the coins he can hear rattling around the bottom of the bag. He remembers watching half of Ryan's cell phone smack against the wall as the train's wheels threw it behind them, so it can't be a phone.

He pulls it out, and frowns; it's a can of wet dog food.

Oh, _shit_.

He sets Dylan on the couch cushions and drops an apologetic kiss to her forehead, throws Ryan's wallet and keys into his coat pocket, and _flies_ out the door.

He is in such a hurry than even passing Gabe and his scary purple car doesn't net him anything but a shouted, "Hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave!"

*~*~*~*~*

It isn't, exactly, that Spencer is _suspicious_ of Brendon. There's no earthly reason to be suspicious of Brendon. Brendon appeared perfectly nice when Spencer met him, and Spencer's mom seems to think he hung the moon and stars, and generally she's got a pretty good people-sense. Of course, in this case, the part where he saved her oldest son's life might be clouding her judgement _just_ a smidge.

It's just.

Spencer can't believe that Ryan wouldn't have _told_ him something like that. He can't believe that Ryan could have met someone special without immediately calling Spencer, let alone fallen in _love_ and _proposed_.

And sure, Ryan hadn't been talking to him for a while, and he hadn't really talked to Ryan either, first of all because he'd been _busy_, goddammit, between the sudden shortage of truck drivers and his business classes and Teigha's guitar being stolen in the middle of Crooked's tour. And second of all because Ryan had been more of an asshole than Spencer, this time, and he was only trying to _help_, fucker, and anyway Ryan hadn't let him finish. So they hadn't been talking. But.

Spencer just. He really _can't_ believe that Ryan is _that_ mad at him, especially not now, not when he might not wake up. The idea makes something inside his gut curl up and whimper.

So he tells himself that he's giving Brendon the chance he promises Crystal he'd give, but when his truck pulls up outside Brendon's building he can't stop himself from looking for outside information.

There's an extremely tall guy poking under the hood of a neon purple...something...and Spencer goes over to him.

"Excuse me, do you live here?"

"It's my place," the guy says agreeably, standing upright and wiping at his hands with an orange zebra-print bandana. "I reside on the first floor, but I _live_ in the basement, if you know what I mean." He leers.

Spencer blinks. "Okay, well, in that case, you probably know the guy in 2G?"

"Brendon." A fond smile breaks over the guy's face. "Such a delectable little treat, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he's--yummy." Spencer frowns.

"I could just bite those lips all day, the sweet little pumpkin rump."

"You...seem to know him pretty well," Spencer says warily.

"He's a filthy, filthy boy."

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon slips through the crowded lobby of Ryan's building to the elevator, and rides up tapping an anxious rhythm on his thigh. He unlocks the door warily, not sure whether Ryan's taste in dogs runs toward the ferocious, and anyway, if Dylan had been left without food or water or walks for three days, even _she_ would probably attack the first person through the door.

There's isn't even a welcoming yip, though, and Brendon frowns. Is it possible the key opens the door of more than one apartment, and Brendon's come to the wrong one? The furniture looks more like it should belong to a grandmother with a flair for the elaborate, and there are three bouquets of red roses scattered around the room.

He steps in and closes the door, and discovers behind it a carved hat rack, with places for at least twenty-five hats, with only one bare hook. Brendon sighs with relief. It's the right place, at least.

He sets off in search of the dog, trailing his fingers over the back of the paisley sofa and the shelves of CDs carefully organized by genre, stopping to admire the photographs on the wall, probably the work of the same photographer. There are two more of Ryan's hats, he notes in amusement. The first door he pokes his head through appears to be in use as a music room; there are three guitars on the wall, and a seafoam green one lying across the chair. The bedroom has an actual four-poster bed, and Brendon can't help but smile.

Next is the kitchen, with a note on the refrigerator. _Mr. Ross--We noticed that Hobo's food bowl was empty, so we filled it and changed her water. Please let us know if you wish us to continue to do this in addition to our usual services._ The paper is from a memo pad with a dog-walking agency's letterhead, and Brendon's sigh of relief nearly echoes in the empty apartment. He sticks the note in his pocket--he'll have to call them and tell them what's going on--and turns to keep exploring the apartment. Hobo should have some pets and love, even if her physical needs are being met.

He pushes the kitchen door, calling, "Hobo?" and the door smacks into something heavy on the other side.

"_Shit_," a familiar voice says, fervently.

"Oh my god." Brendon swings the door open the other way and stares at Spencer in horror. Spencer is clutching his nose. "Oh god, I'm _sorry_\--" he rushes to the freezer and scoops ice out of the ice maker, wrapping it in a paisley dishcloth. He hands it over sheepishly.

"Nice shot," Spencer says, in a nasal voice.

Oh god. "I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here, I'm so sorry."

Spencer waves it off. "How did you get in, anyway?"

"Oh, uh, key." Brendon holds it up.

"You stay here a lot?" Spencer asks, with a hard look in his eyes.

Brendon flails. "Well, you know, check on the dog--"

"Ryan doesn't _have_ a dog," Spencer says.

There's a happy little yip outside the kitchen door, and a small black nose pushes around the edge of it.

"Hobo!" Brendon says, probably a little more happily than the situation would normally call for. He scoops up the little dog and snuggles her close to his chest. "Yes, I know," he murmurs to her. "You're so lonesome without Ryan, aren't you, honey?"

The phone rings.

Spencer raises an eyebrow. "You gonna get that?"

"Ah, no, I'm gonna...let them leave a voicemail. That way I don't have to write down the messages." Brendon nuzzles the top of Hobo's head. Luckily, she seems to be just as cuddly as Dylan is.

Spencer's other eyebrow joins the first one, and he gives Brendon an unimpressed look as he goes over to the phone. "Hello?" He listens for a moment, then says, "I'll tell him. Yeah, sure. Love you, too."

"My mom for you," he explains. "They're going down to the hospital, they wanted us to go, too."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jon's playing cards with Jeff, that card shark, when Spencer and Brendon come into the room where Ryan's lying still.

"I don't get the television," Jackie's saying. "He's in a coma, right?"

"People in comas can hear sometimes," her mother tells her.

"Maybe we should sing to him," Crystal suggests.

"Maybe Brendon knows his favorite song," Spencer says, with a sharp note to his voice that makes Jon frown at him.

"I'll Never Break Your Heart," Ginger says, before Brendon can. Jon ducks his head, grinning. _Everybody_ sees through Ryan's facade of being over his Backstreet Boys phase.

"Favorite flower?" Spencer asks, giving Brendon the Eyebrow of Skepticism. Oh, _shit_.

"Red roses," Brendon says.

"Favorite fabric print?"

"Paisley."

"Favorite _guitar_?"

"Sea foam green."

Jon's kind of impressed.

"What's going on?" Jeff asks, frowning.

"Why are you asking all these questions?" Ginger looks like Spencer has a lecture on manners coming to him.

"Don't ask me," Spencer says, with his very bitchiest bitchface. "Ask his boyfriend."

_What_?

Brendon looks just as startled as Jon is, though, and he breathes a silent sigh of relief. He was right to trust Brendon.

"That isn't _funny_, Spencer," Ginger says, reaching over to hold Ryan's hand.

Spencer huffs impatiently. "Not _that_ one." He swings around to face Brendon. "Gabriel Saporta."

Brendon snorts. "Gabe? Gabe the Leering Landlord?"

Spencer gives Brendon his most unimpressed look. "That's right. He said a few things about you; I won't repeat 'em cause I embarrass easily in front of my mother."

"He says those things about everybody," Brendon scoffs. "I bet you ten million dollars he said something to you about his basement. "

Spencer looks momentarily disconcerted, but he rallies pretty quickly. "Does he call everyone 'pumpkin rump'?"

Brendon smirks. "Only the people with asses as fabulous as mine."

Jon has to grin.

"Brendon doesn't have to _prove_ anything," Ginger says firmly, but the girls are sneaking uncertain looks at Brendon, now. _Double_ shit.

Brendon looks nervous for a second, but then his face hardens.

"Ryan has a tattoo on his hip."

Jon blinks.

"No way," Spencer says. Ryan and Spencer have had a pact about tattoos since Ryan met Pete.

"Way," Brendon says, smug. "A guitar pick."

The family exchange glances. Most of them wind up looking at Spencer.

He shakes his head emphatically. "I've seen enough of Ryan's dick to last me a lifetime," he says, which is what he always says when Ryan drags them to vintage clothing stores with only two dressing stalls.

Sometimes Jon thinks Spencer is trying to torture him on _purpose_. He sighs and puts down his cards.

He lifts the blanket carefully, trying to stop his gaze from lingering on Ryan's skinny thighs, his thick, pretty cock lying soft against his leg. _Ryan doesn't like you like that,_ he reminds himself for the ten thousandth time. _Don't be creepy_. It's been a mantra since his favorite guitar pupil filled in for a sick member of Jon's crappy high school band and filled the stage with his long fingers and lip-biting concentration.

He makes himself stop looking and search for the guitar pick instead, finding it sketched across the bump of Ryan's pelvis.

"It's there," he says, and waits for Spencer to turn and give Brendon a look of apology before he glares a hole in the back of Spencer's head.

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon's playing tug-of-war with Dylan when there's a knock at his door.

"Who is it?" he calls, letting her win.

"The star of your wet dreams," Gabe calls through the door.

Brendon sighs and opens it.

"Did it work?" Gabe asks him, beaming.

"Did what work?"

Gabe gives him a reproachful look. "A luscious man dropped by looking for you today. I talked up all your best assets."

Brendon groans. "No, you just made him think I was a _slut_."

"A most enticing thing to be!"

"Not to _normal_ people, Gabe!" Brendon exclaims, his voice going up a little in volume.

There's another knock at the door.

Brendon growls. "Who is it?"

"It's Jon."

Brendon can feel his eyes widen. Jon can't find Gabe in his apartment, not after all that mess today.

"You have to hide," he tells Gabe, frantic. "Get in the closet."

"Out of the closet, into the streets," Gabe says, looking at Brendon reprovingly.

"You are _not_ holding a Slut Pride parade in my apartment." Brendon shoves him into the closet and shuts the door.

He runs his hands through his hair, and puts a polite smile on his face before turning the front doorknob.

"Am I--interrupting anything?" Jon asks politely.

Brendon curses Gabe and all his leering progeny. "No--ah--the, uh, TV was on. I turned it off. Because you were here! So."

Jon nods like Brendon is making sense, and Brendon calms down a little.

"Would you like something? Coffee, cocoa, there's some eggnog left...?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks." Jon smiles at him. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh, well--" Brendon gestures to the couch, and Jon sits down.

"There's something you should know," Jon begins.

Brendon nods.

"The night you visited Ryan, I was outside the door. I know the truth."

Brendon can feel all the blood draining from his face, and he sticks his head between his legs. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I--I'll tell them everything, I swear I will."

"Don't," Jon says.

Brendon looks up in surprise.

"You give them Ryan back, Brendon," Jon says, a serious look in his eyes. "They need that right now. And I know you need them, too."

Brendon blows out his breath. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Good." Jon pats his leg and stands up to go. Brendon follows him to the door.

"Hey, how did you know about the tattoo?"

"I met Pete at the hospital," Brendon explains, "and he--"

"Say no more," Jon says, grinning. "There is no better explanation for a random tattoo than Pete Wentz."

Brendon smiles back. He'd kind of gotten that impression.

When Jon has left, he goes to let Gabe out of the closet, only to find him kneeling on the floor, eyes closed in an expression of bliss, with the end of one of Brendon's belts in his mouth, the rest of the belt spilling sinuously from his mouth like a serpent's tongue.

"What the _fuck_\--"

Gabe opens his eyes and smiles. Around the leather, which is seriously disturbing.

He climbs to his feet and takes the belt out of his mouth. "I was merely attempting to invite the cobra into your home, lustmuffin."

Brendon stares at him in blank horror until the front door knocks again.

"Who is it?" he calls, afraid to take his eyes off Gabe for fear he'll actually _turn into_ a snake or something.

"Spencer Smith."

"God, why doesn't anybody _call_ anymore?" Brendon grumbles, shoving Gabe back in the closet.

"I use the telephone, o nubile temptation," Gabe says, waggling his eyebrows.

"I'm not talking about 900-SEXYSEX, jackass," Brendon retorts, and shuts the closet door.

"I make damn good money at it, too!" Gabe shouts through the door. Brendon rolls his eyes.

He opens the door on its chain, because he isn't feeling at all generous right now. "More questions?"

Spencer rubs the back of his neck and looks slightly ashamed of himself. "Nah, I brought you an engagement present."

Oh, god, _really_? Now he has to be nice. Brendon shuts the door, casts an I-blame-you look vaguely ceilingward, and slides the chain back, opening the door wide enough to see all of Spencer's face.

"You shouldn't have. Really."

Spencer makes an equally frustrated face back. "I didn't. This is from my parents."

"Oh." Well, thank god for that. "That's very nice of them."

"It's sort of...furniture, want me to bring it up?"

There's a loud _thump_ behind Brendon, and both of them jump. _Damn_ Gabe.

"What was that?" Spencer asks.

Brendon shakes his head. "Dog."

Spencer looks suspicious. "Pretty big dog for such a small apartment."

"I think we should take the present to Ryan's apartment," Brendon says, choosing to ignore this.

"You don't even know what it is," Spencer protests.

Brendon thinks of hiring movers to return the present where it belongs when Ryan wakes up, let alone Spencer walking in and discovering Gabe sucking on Brendon's belts in his closet.

He says, "Ryan has a lot more space than I do." And then, as there's another thump from the closet, he snatches his coat off the rack and closes the door behind him. "I'll come with you."

The ride to Ryan's place in Spencer's _Smith and Son_ instrument van is awkward, and mostly silent. They pull up in front of Ryan's tall, shiny building, and Brendon climbs out while Spencer goes to feed the meter. Brendon frowns at the front bumper of the van.

"I think you're too close to this car," he calls.

"Has to be, we have to get the stuff out of the back." Spencer turns and leads him to the loading door. "Ready to be surprised?"

Brendon grins at him, and Spencer raises the door with a flourish.

Staring back at Brendon is a framed _Frozen Over_ poster, autographed by the whole band. "_Dude_," Brendon says, awed, reaching out to brush his fingers over the band logo.

"You like it?" Spencer asks, a funny note to his voice.

"Dude, _yeah_," Brendon says, turning to beam at Spencer. "They're amazing, I have both their albums and I play them all the time."

"Too bad," Spencer says, smiling at him. "Mom and Dad sent the piano." He waves at a tiny upright with a cherry finish.

Brendon cringes. "Oh, god, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Spencer reaches out and gives the frame a friendly pat. "These guys are my babies--first band I ever discovered."

Brendon's eyes widen. "You do A&amp;R?"

"Yeah. Well, sort of. I teach the kids that come into the store, some of 'em, and I put 'em together if I think their sound could work out. I hand over the demos to Pete if they turn out okay."

"Who else have you discovered?"

Spencer smiles ruefully. "I don't know if you'd know any of 'em, Frozen Over's the only one with two whole albums to their name."

"Try me."

"Okay, uh--well, there's Crooked Vine--and, uh, Earned, and Earned's guitarist is Leslie Shep, she's doing a little solo work too, and Greatest of Ease..."

Brendon's a little blown away despite himself. "But--those guys are _amazing_. I saw Greatest of Ease at Arnello's, they blew the top off my head. If you've got that kind of eye, why are you driving a delivery van?"

The smile drops off Spencer's face. "It's complicated."

Brendon knows that kind of change. "Oh--your dad, right?"

Spencer scratches at his beard ruefully. "Yeah, he kind of built the business from scratch, and, well--he likes the idea of passing it on."

Brendon nods. Nobody knows better than he does how hard it can be to disappoint your family.

Spencer steps over to the piano and starts pulling. Brendon takes the other end. It's heavy, of course, and Brendon's glad when they've deposited it in Ryan's apartment and can take the elevator back down to the street.

Outside, a Camry has parked two inches from the van's back bumper, and Spencer groans.

"I told you not to park so close," Brendon says smugly.

Spencer glares at him.

"And it's after six," he adds, "so you could be here _all night_."

Spencer reaches over to punch him in the arm, and Brendon dances back out of the way, grinning. He spins around and waves over his shoulder. "Have a good night!"

Spencer chases after him and catches him by the belt loop. "Hey, wait up, Chicago is scary at night!"

Brendon sticks his tongue out, and quickly sucks it back in because it is _freezing_ out here.

They walk in silence for a little while. Brendon shivers.

"You look cold," Spencer says, finally.

"I am cold," Brendon assures him.

"You need a better scarf."

Brendon reaches up to touch the thin loops of crotcheted yarn. "My sister made this for me."

"You oughta ask her for a warmer one next year."

"Yeah, well--I haven't seen her in three years, so...probably not."

Spencer cocks his head inquiringly, and Brendon grimaces. "My family isn't--we're not--" He stops and begins again. "We have some philosophical differences. I left them, to do my music thing. We don't talk."

"That's gotta be hard," Spencer says softly.

Brendon nods. "It's the time of year, you know?"

"What kind of music do you play?"

"Oh, everything," Brendon tells him, grinning so he won't cry. "Piano, accordion, guitar, drums, cello--"

"Really? Where do you play? I'll come cheer you on."

"Oh, well." Brendon shrugs. "My boss at the bakery lets me busk on the days I'm cuter than Greta. If you come by around eleven I can get you a free cup of coffee."

Spencer blinks at him.

Brendon shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. "I've been thinking about putting together a demo, you know, but money's tight, so. You play, too, right? I mean, you must, to teach."

"Yeah." Spencer tugs on the hem of his coat. "Drums; a little guitar and bass, enough to teach the beginners."

"Okay, so what's your favorite band? That you didn't sign?"

They keep walking, trading silly trivia questions and awesome concert experiences. The time goes quicker than it has any right to in the bitter cold, and Brendon's almost sad to see his building come into view.

They stop just beside the front path, and Brendon ducks his head, looks up at Spencer through his eyelashes. "I had...a really nice time, thanks."

Spencer nods. "Me too. Even if you do think Barry White is classic seduction music."

"Oh, that is _it_," Brendon says, and scoops up a handful of snow to shove in Spencer's face.

Spencer growls and bends over for his own handful, and Brendon shrieks and runs the other way, the snowball hitting him in the shoulder. After that it's _on_, snowballs flying in the lamplight, hiding behind the bushes and leaping on Spencer's back to rub snow in his hair.

Finally they collapse against the wall, exhausted. "Truce?"

Spencer laughs. "Yeah, truce."

They stand there grinning at each other for a minute, panting their breath back to normal rates.

"You going to visit Ryan tomorrow?" Brendon asks, finally.

The smile drops from Spencer's face for a second. "Oh. Yeah. But I have to go in the morning, I, uh, I'm teaching an evening class."

"Okay, then." Brendon pushes himself off the wall. "I guess I'll see you when I see you?"

"Yeah."

Brendon gives a little wave and goes inside, climbing the stairs quickly so he can be at the window in time to watch Spencer walk down the street.

Spencer walks tall, but not proud, and Brendon feels a warm glow start in the pit of his stomach as he watches him walk down the street.

Oh, _shit_.

*~*~*~*~*

"I'm having an _affair_," Brendon says, as soon as he walks in to help with the morning baking. "I like Spencer."

Zack stops sifting and looks at him blankly. "Who's Spencer?"

"Ryan's brother."

"So?"

"So he's thinks I'm engaged. To _Ryan_." Brendon collapses in a chair and covers his head with his arms.

Zack sighs.

"So tell him the truth."

"If I tell Spencer I lied to his family, he will never speak to me again." Brendon clutches at his own hair. "And Ginger and Jeff and the twins and Jon--"

Zack sounds lost. "Who's Jon?"

"He's the next-door neighbor. But actually, he knows."

Zack's groan is heartfelt. "Brendon, I can't keep _track_ of all this."

"No, fuck, Zack, you have to tell me what to do. You _have_ to."

There's a pause for consideration.

"Pull the plug."

Brendon sits up and glares. "You are no fucking help at all."

*~*~*~*~*

The dice spin themselves still on the bed tray, one, one, one, three, four.

"None for you," Spencer taunts, and marks an "X" through Ryan's four-of-a-kind box.

He shakes the cup for his own turn and comes up with three fives.

"I'm kicking your ass," he tells Ryan.

Ryan doesn't react outwardly, although it's entirely possible that he's plotting Spencer's messy death on the inside. It isn't all that different from playing against him when he's awake, except that Spencer will probably be spared the tantrum at the end when Ryan can no longer come from behind to take all.

"Speaking of which," Spencer says, slowly, picking up the four and the two and rubbing them between his fingers, "I wanted to apologize for kicking your ass over the Jon thing."

Ryan doesn't say anything.

"It was none of my business," Spencer admits. "I just worry, is all. It isn't healthy to spend three years moping over somebody you--" he breaks off, sheepish.

"There I go again."

In his head he can hear Ryan saying, _You think?_, and he bows his head apologetically. "Maybe I even deserved the silent treatment, a little. Although I think not _telling me you're engaged_ was overdoing it."

Ryan refuses to defend himself.

"I had a point, you know, you just didn't let me make it before. I really think he likes you. You should make a move. This can end well for everybody."

There's a long silence. Spencer flips one of the dice out of his hand and on to the tray, where it tumbles to a stop. Five.

Spencer scratches his elbow with the other die. "I didn't mean for you to move _on_." He turns the die in his hand, watching the dots change, add, multiply, subtract. "I really didn't mean for you to move on to _Brendon_. Not that I knew him, back then. But now?"

Ryan waits for Spencer to answer his own question.

"Now I really, really don't want you to move on." Spencer sighs and looks at the dice strewn across the table; four fives.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "I'll roll the last one. If it's higher than a five, you can have Brendon."

He rolls with a theatrical twist of his wrist, casting the die like he's really settling the fate of all mankind with one throw. The die bounces across the tray, skips over the edge, and lands on the floor, six black dots staring blankly at the ceiling.

Spencer stares at them for a moment, then looks up at Ryan's smug, peaceful face. "Best of three?"

*~*~*~*~*

Ginger's pot roast is possibly better than Brendon's mom's, however much of a betrayal that might be. Brendon eats enthusiastically and listens to Crystal's plans for the rest of New Year's Eve. He suspects, from Jon's kicking him under the table, that these are completely fictitious. The real ones probably involve a lot more alcohol.

"Brendon?"

He looks up at Ginger. "Hm?"

"Can you find me a nice boy for Spencer, do you think?"

"Mom!" Spencer exclaims.

Brendon flounders. "I, uh, I don't really know Spencer's type, so--"

"I like the tall guys," Spencer says firmly. "Blond. Nordic. You know."

Jackie stares at him like he's crazy. "You like little guys with dark hair, Spencer."

Spencer glares at her. "What would you know about it?"

"Duh, you have the exact same taste as Ryan," Crystal chimes in. "Remember, how you once had a crush on--"

"Shut _up_," Spencer hisses, glancing down the table at Jon, who is talking to Jeff about repairs to his bass.

Crystal looks that way, too, and goes quiet. There's a moment of _incredibly_ awkward silence before Ginger asks Jackie if she wants to hit the after-Christmas sales the next day, and Brendon doesn't look at Spencer for the rest of the meal.

They have to leave at the same time, though, and they're crowded together in the little foyer as everybody hugs them goodbye. Ginger presses a kiss to Brendon's cheek and makes him promise to call her tomorrow, and Jeff claps him on the shoulder. Brendon's just turning to squeeze the girls when Spencer turns to his mother, and they bump into each other.

"Look, you guys!" Jackie squeals. "You're under the mistletoe!"

Brendon and Spencer look at each other and immediately look away.

"Oh, kiss him, Spencer," Ginger scolds, swatting at him. "It's tradition."

Spencer lowers his mouth to Brendon's awkwardly, barely brushing their mouths together.

Brendon's lips tingle all the way home.

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon arrives at the hospital to considerable commotion. Ginger's hands are moving quickly as she talks to Jeff in a corner of the waiting room, and the girls are holding hands and speaking too rapidly for Brendon to follow. Jon stands up and comes over to him.

"Jon, what's up? They called me--"

"He's awake," Jon says in a low voice, and Brendon's stomach drops to his feet.

Spencer walks in, and Brendon jumps away from Jon like they shouldn't be talking to each other. "He's awake, huh?" Spencer says, looking nervous.

Brendon's favorite nurse sticks her head out of Ryan's room. "He's ready to be awake again, guys."

They file into the room. Brendon makes Jon stand next to him.

"Ryan, honey," Ginger says softly. "We're here. Wake up."

Ryan opens his eyes slowly, and smiles at his mother. She squeezes his hand. His eyes move along the row, Jeff, Jackie, Crystal. He stops for a minute at Spencer, and reaches his other hand out; Spencer takes it and clings. He smiles a little bigger for Jon, and then he stops, because he's reached Brendon.

His eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead.

"Who are you?"

Brendon opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

"Oh my god," Ginger says, her eyes wide. "He's got amnesia!"

Ryan's head drops back to the pillow, and he closes his eyes.

There are a confusing few minutes of crowding their way out of the tiny room and summoning the doctor, who starts talking about forgetting isolated incidents, the period of trauma...Brendon isn't listening. What the _hell_ can he do with _this_?

The nurse sticks her head in. "He's awake again."

As everybody stands up to go back into Ryan's room, Jon grabs Brendon by the elbow. "Look, let me tell them. I've been their friend for way too long, they can't kill me."

Brendon draws in a shaky breath. Okay. Okay.

Counting on that, he trails in after Jackie, and only realizes thirty seconds later that Jon isn't behind him.

What the _fuck_.

Spencer gestures to Brendon. "Remember him, Ryan?"

Ryan frowns. "Should I?"

"Look closely," Jeff says.

Ryan cocks his head consideringly. "He's...familiar..."

Ginger sighs in relief. "I think it's coming back."

"I think so!" Crystal smiles at Brendon.

"What's coming back?" Ryan demands, grabbing for Spencer's hand and looking at him pleadingly. "What's going on, Spence?"

Ginger sits down on the bed and takes his other hand. "Ryan, honey, you've got a little hole in your memory."

Ryan looks incredibly freaked out by this. Brendon doesn't blame him. "What have I forgotten?"

"You're engaged!" Jackie tells him. "This is Brendon, you're in love with him."

"I am?" Ryan's eying him dubiously. Brendon tries to look lovable, but he's pretty sure it's coming across as "demented."

The blond doctor comes in and says that Ryan's had enough excitement for one day. "Let him rest, you can come back tomorrow."

Ginger kisses Ryan's forehead, and Jeff claps him on the shoulder. Spencer bends down to whisper in Ryan's ear, and Ryan smiles at him. The girls pat Ryan's feet.

Brendon. Sort of. Waves.

The family heads for the elevator, and Jon comes down the hall.

He's lucky Brendon doesn't kill him then and there. He grabs Jon's sleeve and pulls him in close. "Where _were_ you?"

"What, I can't go to the bathroom?" Jon looks injured.

Brendon would like to really injure him.

Apparently it's coming across, too. Jon winces. "I'm handling it. I will tell them."

"When?" Brendon demands. "After we've left on the honeymoon? What's the _matter_ with you?"

"I will take _care_ of it, I _promise_." Brendon growls and stalks into the elevator.

And then, of course, Spencer offers him a ride home.

They don't talk much in the truck, contemplative silence filling the air like thick smoke. The truck pulls up in front of Brendon's building, and Spencer pushes the gear into park with a sigh.

Brendon bites his lip. "Spence?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, just--starting tomorrow, things are...they're gonna be different."

Spencer nods heavily.

"I just--I wanted to tell you that this week has been...you've become really...really important to me."

Spencer smiles sadly. "You too."

"I want to tell you something. Will you promise not to get mad at me?"

Spencer lays a hand on Brendon's. "Anything you want to tell me, I'll listen."

Brendon looks at Spencer's hand on his, feels the warmth seeping through to his bones, and he can't do it. "You should tell your dad you want to do A&amp;R," he blurts out instead.

Spencer's hand tightens on his.

"I just, I never told my family. I just walked out on them. And now I think, maybe it wasn't fair of me, not to give them the chance to accept me. You know?

"You're not happy, doing your dad's business. And I think you should be happy. I think you should tell him."

Spencer nods, looking into Brendon's eyes. "Okay."

"Okay." Brendon draws a shaky breath and opens his door. "Good night."

"Brendon, wait--"

Brendon turns so fast he almost slips on the ice. "Yeah?"

"You deserve to be happy, too," Spencer says softly. "I hope you and Ryan are so, _so_ happy."

Brendon smiles sadly. "Thanks, Spence."

He stays on the sidewalk to watch the truck drive away.

*~*~*~*~*

Spencer pulls up in front of his childhood home in the wee small hours of the morning, bringing with him a box of donuts because he is never above bribery.

His dad is sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper, deep in the entertainment section. He looks up with a smile. "Spencer, hey."

Spencer presents his donuts with a flourish.

His dad eyes him knowingly, and the flourish deflates.

"Yeah, okay. So. I want to tell you something."

He sits down when his dad gestures him to a chair, and pours himself some orange juice.

"So you know how I've been helping Pete out, with finding new bands?"

"Yeah, and I remember you got Frozen Over to sign a CD for your sisters' Christmas presents, you cheap little bastard," his dad says affectionately.

Spencer smiles briefly. "Pete has...offered me a job. Doing A&amp;R. For, like. For real."

There's a long silence. "And you want to do that?" his dad asks, finally.

Spencer takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. "Yeah, I do, dad."

His father reaches across and flicks Spencer's ear like he used to when Spencer was ten and trying out swearwords for the first time.

"You couldn't tell me this sooner? Larry Walker's been trying to buy a partnership for the last two years! I'm going to have to call him in Mexico!"

Spencer rubs his ear and grins. "You're not mad?"

"I'm a little mad that you thought I'd be mad," his dad says seriously. "But I'll get over it."

"Yeah, okay."

Spencer slides a jelly donut out of the box and takes a big bite.

*~*~*~*~*

"Nsync broke up in 2002," Ryan tells his mother. "Spencer's first kiss was Rebecca Sands in the second grade and his first one that counts was with Travis, but he thinks we don't know that. Jackie's seven hours older than Crystal. Hobo's due for her second round of shots in two weeks--shit, I'll be out by then, right? My favorite color is red--"

"You have to remember Brendon," Crystal says, playing with his hair like when she was a little girl.

Ryan's starting to think he _should_. He's panicking. "It took nineteen takes to make Patrick stop wussing out of his first recording session for the solo album--"

"You love him," Ginger says, patting his leg. "It'll come back. Give it time."

A knock on the door stops Ryan from telling her the entire plot of _Moulin Rouge_. He looks up, and a wave of warmth washes over him. Jon's in the doorway, and their eyes meet.

"Hey."

"Hey." Jon clears his throat. "Can I talk to Ryan alone for a minute?"

"Everything okay?" Ginger asks, getting up.

"Sure, sure. I just want to tell him something, that's all."

Jon comes to sit next to the bed, and Ryan watches him hungrily. He hasn't seen Jon in almost two months, not since before he and Spencer had that big fight, and photographs just can't do justice. He watches the light catching on the bristles of Jon's beard, the lines of his arms as he leans forward, and then he remembers that he's _engaged_ and that Jon _doesn't_ and feels sick inside.

"Ryan," Jon says, putting a hand on his arm. "I have to tell you something. And, I mean, we've been friends a long time, right?"

"Yeah," Ryan says hoarsely. "Of course."

"And you're so important to me, I can't even--I can't imagine my life without you in it. I hope you know that. You're so amazing."

Ryan's heart is in his throat. It's getting a little hard to breathe. Maybe this is it, maybe seeing Ryan sick made Jon realize--

"You deserve to be happy," Jon says softly. "You've been alone for so long. I've hated seeing you so lonely."

Of course not. Shit. Shit shit _shit_.

"Brendon's a great guy," Jon says softly. "I really think he can make you happy. I know you don't know much about him right now, you know, because of the--" he gestures toward his own head. "But everything you learn about him, you're gonna like. I promise you."

He stands up abruptly. "Think about it, okay? You...you fell in love with him once, you can do it again. Spend just five minutes talking to him, and see if you don't think you could fall in love. If not, just...tell him you want to break up. Be gentle, but you can tell him that, you know? But if you see what the rest of us see, you'll propose to him all over again. You should find happiness, Ryan."

Ryan nods, not trusting himself to speak. Jon pats him on the arm, and walks out of the room. Ryan turns his head into the pillow and doesn't bother wiping away the tears.

Jon finally figured it out, then. And the answer is no.

Ryan cries until his eyes are exhausted with tears, and then he drifts into a troubled slumber.

He jerks awake when the chair in the corner screeches across the floor, to see Brendon standing there with a box.

"Brendon, hey."

Brendon looks up, his eyes like a deer in headlights. "I, uh...I was just bringing your stuff back." He lifts the box a little. "The nurses gave it to me for you."

Ryan nods encouragingly. "Would you like a sandwich?" he asks, nodding to the tray beside the bed that he'd hardly touched.

"No, thanks, I ate," Brendon says, fiddling with his sleeves. "Can I get you anything?"

Ryan shrugs. "I wish I had my own clothes, this hospital gown is boring."

"It fails to make a statement," Brendon says, smiling a little. "I bet you miss your hats."

"I _do_ miss my hats." Possibly that was too fervent. Ryan knows he's kind of a geek about his hats.

Brendon's still grinning, though. "I miss them, too," he admits. "My favorite is the one with the red feather?"

"I made that one!" Ryan tells him, beaming, and Brendon beams back like sunshine.

The silence runs just long enough to be awkward.

"Pete, uh, he told me about your tattoo," Brendon offers.

Ryan closes his eyes and groans. This is why he can't get drunk around Pete; he always tells people about Jon when he's drunk, and Pete has absolutely no discretion.

"No, dude, I think it's cool," Brendon assures him. "I've got ink, too, see?" He rolls up the sleeve of his sweater to show Ryan a line of piano keys marching up his arm.

"Oh, cool." Ryan reaches out automatically to touch it, try to fit his fingers to the keys. His fingertips touch Brendon's skin, and he freezes. Their eyes meet, and for a moment the weird tension balloons between them, but then Brendon starts to laugh, and it snaps instead.

Ryan laughs, too, laughs until he's almost crying again, and he and Brendon hiccup their way to sanity together. "At least yours isn't a lame thing like completely unrequited love," Ryan says, wiping his eyes.

Brendon smiles wistfully. "Nah, mine was all about declaring my independence." He looks down at the tattoo for a minute. "More like I broke up with my family, really."

Ryan knows that smile, that bend to the neck. "You're lonely, too, then," he says softly, and Brendon's eyes come up to meet his.

"Yeah."

*~*~*~*~*

Ryan's in a good mood when Spencer gets there the next day. They've cleared him to move to another floor, with fewer beeping machines and a bigger room. He beams at Spencer while the orderly with the crazy hair helps him into the wheelchair.

"Can I drive?" Spencer asks, and the orderly smiles.

"Sure. I'll get his things and meet you at the elevator."

"Awesome." Ryan reaches up and grasps Spencer's hand for a minute, and then they're off.

"I brought you something," Spencer says, and drops the rose down Ryan's shirt.

Ryan squawks, and then laughs, fishing it out and smelling it. "Mmmm."

Spencer smiles down at his head. "I know Brendon's probably bringing you lots of flowers, but--"

"No," Ryan says, peaceably. "I think the whole amnesia thing's a little weird for him, you know."

"It's weird for all of us," Spencer says grimly.

"He's really nice, though," Ryan says, waving to the nurse with the black hair. "I think we'll be really happy."

"Are you--Ryan, are you seriously saying you're going to do this?"

"What? Why not? _You_ told me I need to move on--"

"I didn't _say_ you needed to move on, I said you needed to--" Spencer breaks off to rub his hand over his face.

"I'm sorry about that," he starts again. "I didn't mean to fight with you. I was just...I was worried. You were so lonely, Ryan, even with me and your friends, you were so lonely."

"So I went and got a dog," Ryan tells him. "She's adorable. She's friendly. My life was immediately improved."

"A dog is not enough to make you completely happy, Ryan, not when--"

"So now I'll have Brendon," Ryan says, and there's finality in his voice, warning Spencer from saying anything directly about Jon. The last time Spencer ignored that warning, he spent a week thinking Ryan was going to die mad at him, so this time he doesn't say any more.

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon meets Jon outside the hospital as requested. Jon is smoking and looking Zen. Brendon objects to Zen in the face of the complete fuckup that is his life right now, and it's possible he grabs Jon's arm so hard that Jon drops his cigarette.

"Well?" he demands. "What did they say?"

Jon is the picture of innocent bewilderment. "Who?"

"The Smiths. They inside?"

"You just missed them."

Brendon is going to kick Jon in a minute, he really is. "Well, what did they say?"

"Oh, I didn't tell them yet."

Brendon groans and buries his hands in his hair. "What do you _mean_, you didn't _tell them yet_? What about Ryan?"

Jon shrugs, and his mouth goes tight. "I didn't tell him either."

Oh, _screw this_. Brendon takes his hands out of his hair, breathes in deep, and looks Jon straight in the eye.

"Jon?"

Jon raises an eyebrow at him.

"You're fired."

Brendon whirls around to storm into the hospital, almost knocking over a plump redheaded guy in a fedora. He can't stand living in this agony any longer. He is going to tell Ryan _right now_.

Brendon gets to the elevator at the same time as the redhead, and lets him get in first as an apology for the almost-destroying-him thing. "What floor?" he asks politely, pushing his own fourth-floor button.

"Two, please," the man says, and they ride together in silence.

*~*~*~*~*

"Patrick!" Ryan sits up and smiles. "It's so good to see you, man!"

Patrick smiles back at him. "Good to see you, too, Ryan; you gave us a scare."

"Wasn't my idea," Ryan assures him. "How's Pete, how's everybody?"

"Fine, fine. I hear congratulations are in order: you finally got your Jon, huh? When do we get to meet him? Pete tells me he's adorable."

"Oh, no," Ryan says. He's been practicing serenity for just this moment. "Not Jon. His name is Brendon. He _is_ adorable."

Ryan's never seen Patrick look so confused. "_Not_ Jon? Not the Jon Walker you get drunk and wax poetic about once a week? _Not_ the guitar teacher whose smile lit a thousand bonfires?"

"Nope." Ryan smiles brightly.

"But...where did you meet him? When? Why didn't we hear about him?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ryan says.

"You don't...know." Patrick is surreptitiously looking for the nurse button, Ryan's pretty sure.

He explains. "I have amnesia. The whole coma thing, you know."

Patrick blinks at him. "But you're...marrying him anyway?"

"Yes."

"Ryan, are you _crazy_?"

"Why not?" Ryan demands. "He's nice, and cute, and he makes me laugh. He saved my life." Patrick stares him down; Ryan looks at the bedcover instead. "He's lonely, too," he mutters, and Patrick sighs.

"You know this is a bad idea, right? You do _know_ that?"

Ryan looks back up at Patrick, and this time he doesn't break eye contact. "Why should we be alone when we can have each other?"

Patrick doesn't have an answer to that.

*~*~*~*~*

When Brendon gets to the intensive care unit, his favorite nurse stops him before he can go into Ryan's room. He's got a button pinned to his scrubs that says, "I save lives," and Brendon smiles at him.

"Hey, Brendon, he's not here. He was so much better they moved him down to two!"

"Oh, hey, that's great!" Brendon says, although actually he's dancing with impatience to get this over with. "Do you know where?"

The nurse smiles and take him down to a room on level two, where Ryan is reading a thick book. He looks up. "Brendon!"

"Hi, Ryan. Wow, you look like you're feeling better." He does. He has a peace about him.

"I am, thanks. It's amazing. You cheer me up."

"Oh." Brendon doesn't know what to say. "Well, good."

"It _is_ good." Ryan leans forward, lays his hand on Brendon's. "We could be good, you and I. "

Brendon's heart is doing funny things in his chest, and he doesn't know whether he's excited or terrified. "What--what are you talking about?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

"Marry me, Brendon," Ryan says, low and serious and sweet. "Marry me. We'll never have to be lonely again."

*~*~*~*~*

Spencer pulls up in front of Brendon's building with a heavy heart, and sighs before starting to climb the stairs. About halfway up, he meets Gabe the Leering Landlord necking with a tall, lovely person who is probably male.

"Ah, the object of our pint-size delicacy's affections!" Gabe says, living up to his nickname. "On the way to the love nest?"

There is clearly no point to fighting this. "Um, yes."

The willowy probably-male person looks Spencer up and down appraisingly. "I'm sure you make a luscious picture all sweaty in bed together."

Fire sparks in Gabe's eyes. "William, my love," he growls, "you have _such_ a way with words." He returns to his assault on William's neck with ferocity, and Spencer edges past them as William leans back against the stairwell wall and moans.

William's way with words is unfortunate; Spencer has to pause in front of Brendon's door and think of that accidental encounter with his parents' sex life before he's sure he can knock on the door without giving anything away.

Brendon opens the door smiling, half of his hair slicked back and half of it spiked up. "Spencer! Come on in!"

Spencer follows him into the living room. He really can't stop himself. "What's with your _hair_?"

Brendon's hand flies to his scalp, and he grins sheepishly. "Trying it both ways, to see which for the wedding, you know."

"Right." Their eyes meet; Spencer looks away first.

"I just...wanted to drop this off before all the wedding presents start coming in." He digs in his pocket and pulls out the box.

Brendon takes it curiously, and then his whole face lights up.

That was what Spencer wanted to see.

"GarageBand?"

"Yeah," Spencer says softly, watching Brendon turn the box over with reverent fingers. "I know you can do more than busk outside a bakery, Brendon. I wanted to give you the chance to record. I know some agents, when you put your demo together."

Brendon looks up at him, his heart in his eyes. "Thanks."

Spencer has to swallow and step back. "And I...I wanted to say that Ryan is--an incredibly lucky guy."

Brendon blushes and ducks his head, looking at Spencer through his eyelashes. Spencer's going to kiss him in about three seconds.

"You have to say that cause I'm gonna be your brother in law," Brendon says, and Spencer can breathe again. Ryan. He can't take Brendon away from Ryan.

"Yeah, I can't escape you, so I figured I'd start kissing up now."

"Ha ha." Brendon's grin is soft, sweet, and Spencer can't take much more of this.

"I'd better be going."

"Sure." Brendon walks him to the door.

"Spencer?"

He turns around. "Yeah?"

"Can you think of any reason I _shouldn't_ marry Ryan?"

A thousand reasons fill Spencer's head, the clearest of all his own desire to push Brendon up against a wall and kiss him until they can only breathe each other's breath, but--

"No," he says, and "I can't," and he turns, and he walks down the stairs.

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon slaps the creamy card onto the counter in the back of the bakery, and turns to go out front and start helping the customers.

"Wait a minute, Bden," Zack says. "What's this?"

"It's a wedding invitation, Zack."

Zack picks it up in a frosting-sticky hand and frowns at it. "This is _your_ wedding invitation."

Brendon sighs. "I know that."

Zack switches to pointing his frown at Brendon. "Whom are we marrying?"

Brendon growls and marches over to point to the correct line. "Ryan Ross. See?"

"The _coma guy_? With all the hats? Brendon, are you _crazy_?"

"Yes!" Brendon says, and flails his arms expressively. "Yes! Every day I work making coffee for rude people in a hurry. I play music for crowds who only hear it for two seconds while they barrel their way to somewhere else. I go home to a _dog_. And now a beautiful, sweet, intelligent guy--with _fantastic_ fashion sense--has asked me to marry him, and I have said yes. Obviously, I am completely insane."

Brendon's on the edge of tears by the end of his speech, and he stands there and tries to regain his composure before he actually starts to cry.

Zack pulls him into a tight hug, rubbing one hand up and down his back, and Brendon cuddles close and just breathes.

"What happened to the other guy?" Zack rumbles, softly.

Brendon bites his lip. "He didn't want me," and his voice cracks on the last word, and he's crying after all.

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon's wedding day is beautiful, bright and crisp and clear. He puts on his only good suit and spikes his hair up a little, taking the train to the hospital and breathing deep, calming breaths while he waits for the crowd in the hospital's little chapel to quiet.

Someone pushes _play_, and Brendon can hear the organ music through the door. He gasps one last time, and pushes open the door to walk toward Ryan, who is coming from the door on the other side of the chapel.

Ryan smiles at him, that same serene smile, and takes his hand. He's seems perfectly at peace.

"Dearly beloved," the judge begins, and Brendon thinks about peace. Not joy. Not happiness. Just peace.

Maybe a better word would be _resignation_, and can Brendon really live with that?

"I object," Brendon hears, in his own faint voice, and the judge stops and looks at him.

"I'm sorry?"

"I object. I can't--I can't marry him." He turns to Ryan and repeats, "I can't marry you. I'm sorry."

Ryan looks more bewildered than hurt, at least. Brendon can't read Spencer at all.

"_What_ is _going on_?" Ginger demands from the front row.

Brendon takes a deep breath.

"I'm in love with your son."

"We know that," Jeff says kindly, like maybe Brendon is just a bit confused.

Brendon closes his eyes briefly. "Not that one," he says, low, pointing to Ryan. He moves his finger to point to Spencer instead. "That one."

Ginger looks like her whole world's come off its hinges. "Spencer? What--"

"He didn't do anything," Brendon says hastily. "It was--it _is_ my fault, it's not--" His eyes meet Spencer's for a minute, and his breath catches.

When he goes on, his voice is steadier. "That day, at the hospital, on Christmas--when they brought Ryan in, the doctors wouldn't let me see him. I did, I _did_ jump down and pull him off the train tracks, and all of that, but I didn't know his name and I wasn't family, and they wouldn't tell me anything. So--somebody--told the doctor that I was Ryan's fiancée, so that I could see him and they would talk to me. Only, well. It just--wasn't true. At all.

"I was never in love with Ryan. We'd never even really spoken to each other. I just liked his hats."

Spencer clears his throat. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Brendon looks up at him, and then down again. "I couldn't--I didn't know how. It just, it all happened really fast, and I couldn't tell you the truth, it was too--" he waves his hand expressively, "and then I didn't want to--I didn't want to lose you."

"Lose us?" Ginger asks, softly, watching him the way she used to watch Ryan breathe.

"Yeah." Brendon gives her a wry grin. "I just...I've been...I've been so alone. I went from having a dog and an ex-roommate and a few colleagues to having sisters and a dad and a _mom_, and I just--I haven't had any of those things in a really long time.

"But that's no excuse, really. I know that. And it's just--it's not enough to justify this marriage."

He turns to Ryan and reaches up to touch his cheek. "I know you're lonely, too," he says, softly, watching Ryan watch him, watching the understanding in Ryan's eyes. "I know you think you can't have what you want, so you might as well take what you can get. But just not wanting to be alone isn't enough."

He stands up on his tiptoes and drops a soft, chaste kiss on Ryan's lips. "I hope your guitar teacher realizes how amazing you are, some day."

"_What_?" Jon demands, behind him, and Brendon jumps, startled. "You hope that _I_\--"

Ryan's cheeks are turning red, and he shoots Brendon a venomous look. Brendon blinks, and turns to look at Jon, whose face is blooming with incredulous hope.

"Ryan?" Jon says, wondering, and Brendon backs out from between them as Jon reaches out. He takes advantage of the distraction provided by Ryan and Jon kissing hungrily, pulling each other close, to slip down the little aisle to the door.

Behind him, the room explodes with joy, and Brendon lets the door swing shut.

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon is taking down his Christmas tree when the knock at the door comes.

He's already thrown out the paper chains and taken down the twinkle lights. It's possible he has a gap in his ornament storage box where he threw one against the wall just to hear the crash, but Dylan has come out of hiding. It's not like the ornament matters.

"Who is it?" he shouts, wiggling out from where he's been trying to remember how to disassemble the tree stand.

"It's Gabe!"

This is not what Brendon needs right now. He opens the door and leans his head on the doorframe. "What do you want, Gabe?"

"I only want to condole with you, sugarlips," Gabe says, kindly. "I understand the bearded wonder will no longer be frequenting your red-hot bordello. Try to remember that you are as burningly delicious as ever; another luscious prospect will come along."

In his own way, Gabe is actually trying to be helpful. Brendon sighs and rubs a hand across his face. "Thank you, Gabe."

"And if you require any sexual healing, William has asked me to assure you that he is always interested in threesomes."

It's nearly enough to make Brendon start crying again, but he starts to laugh instead.

*~*~*~*~*

The next week Brendon goes back to work, and he is ferociously bouncy and cheerful to stop Zack and Greta from being sympathetic and making him cry again. He draws hearts in whipped cream on top of people's coffee, and sings along with the radio in a loud, happy voice.

Greta doesn't even try to make Zack let her be the busker today, though, so maybe they know him a little too well.

He starts out with "Don't Worry, Be Happy" just to show them that _nothing is wrong_, but Brendon's fingers always betray him, and it's only a few minutes before he looks down at his fingers and discovers them playing "Sailing No More."

For fuck's sake.

He stands there for a long minute, just looking at his fingers, still and treacherous on the strings, and his Hot Stuff change mug clinks with a heavy, funny kind of clink. He frowns and glances over to see a heavy gold band in shiny contrast to the old coins.

Brendon looks up sharply. There, in front of him, is Spencer Smith, a swarm of Smiths standing behind him, Ryan and Jon at the back holding hands.

"Brendon," Spencer says, smiling at him. "I want to ask you something."

"Get down on one knee," Crystal hisses, and Brendon starts to smile.

Spencer reaches out and pulls Brendon to him, the guitar clanking between them. Brendon grins up at him.

"Marry me?" Spencer whispers, and Brendon's face is going to break, he's smiling so hard.

"Yeah," he says. "I love you."

Spencer's smiling pretty wide himself. "I love you back."

Spencer bends his head to kiss Brendon, and Brendon's only _begun_ to kiss him back when they're surrounded by Smiths, all of them trying to hug Brendon into the family.

 

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

They get married a year later, at Christmas time, when the studio work is done, with just enough time for a honeymoon before Brendon leaves on his first tour. Pete's sending Spencer with him--he's the second opener because Greta's band is even newer than he is, and Pete wants their A&amp;R rep keeping an eye on them.

Also, of course, Pete is a total marshmallow on the inside.

They decided to walk down the aisle together, hand in hand, and Brendon's so full of shining joy that the moment he sees Spencer, Spencer's all he can look at. For a second they just stand there, beaming at each other, and Spencer squeezes his hand.

They asked the Smiths to sing for them in lieu of organ or piano music, walking down the aisle, and Brendon may be looking at Spencer, but his ears are working just fine, thanks, and those are voices he hasn't heard in an unbelievably long time.

He whips his head around and his mouth drops open, because there, on his side of the aisle that was going to be almost empty, are his entire family, singing, although his mom is having a little trouble hitting the right notes through her tears. Brendon can feel himself welling up.

He turns back to Spencer, so unbelievably amazed and grateful and so, so in love, walking down the aisle to the sound of his family harmonizing with Spencer's, and realizes that if ever anyone has filled his soul with music, that person is Spencer Smith.


End file.
